So plaintively intelligent was the sound, that it seemed as if
the little creature were going to break its heart with some
mighty secret that it had to tell, and only this one poor note
to tell it with.

"My pretty bird," said Eurylochus--for he was a wary person,
and let no token of harm escape his notice--"my pretty bird,
who sent you hither? And what is the message which you bring?"

"Peep, peep, pe--weep! " replied the bird, very sorrowfully.

Then it flew towards the edge of the cliff, and looked around
at them, as if exceedingly anxious that they should return
whence they came. Eurylochus and a few of the others were
inclined to turn back. They could not help suspecting that the
purple bird must be aware of something mischievous that would
befall them at the palace, and the knowledge of which affected
its airy spirit with a human sympathy and sorrow. But the rest
of the voyagers, snuffing up the smoke from the palace kitchen,
ridiculed the idea of returning to the vessel. One of them
(more brutal than his fellows, and the most notorious
gormandizer in the crew) said such a cruel and wicked thing,
that I wonder the mere thought did not turn him into a wild
beast, in shape, as he already was in his nature.

"This troublesome and impertinent little fowl," said he, "would
make a delicate titbit to begin dinner with. Just one plump
morsel, melting away between the teeth. If he comes within my
reach, I'll catch him, and give him to the palace cook to be
roasted on a skewer."